But there’s nothing to smile about, I tell myself firmly. Elvira and her wonderful hands are just a pain as far as I’m concerned. Elvira glances up and says with annoying modesty, “I know I’ve got a lot to learn.”
Yes, you most certainly have, I think. Like how wrong you are if you think my brother belongs to you.
“Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?” I demand of everyone. Immediately I want to take the words back. I sound like a little kid who’s stayed in a hiding place long after the others have given up hide-and-seek and gone to play something else. I bite my lip. Let them ask me if they really want to know.
Conor tears his eyes from Elvira and looks as me as if he’s waking up from a wonderful dream. “Oh, Sapphy, Saldowr said it was the whale who wanted to see you, the same one who brought you out of the Deep.”
And you didn’t have the slightest curiosity when I came back. You just went on gaping at Elvira.
“Yes.”
Conor waits, expecting me to continue. Faro is watching this little scene with a malicious smile. He’s far too quick. He picks up everything.
“What did she want?” asks Conor at last, seeing that I’m not going to continue.
“To see Sapphire, of course. What could be more natural?” says Faro.
“Whales don’t come hundreds of miles just because they want to see you, Faro,” I snap. “She knows about the Kraken. She’ll take me to the Deep.”
Conor picks up my annoyance, though he doesn’t seem to realize where it’s coming from, and says in a soothing voice, “But that’s good, isn’t it? It’s what we want.”
“It may be what you want, Conor. It’s not you that has to go.”
“I told you I’d go with you.” Conor’s voice sharpens. “Don’t pretend you think I’ll let you go alone.”
“Nor I,” says Faro, and now the mocking edge has left his voice. “Both of us will go with you, little sister.”
Yes, a fortnight next Friday, I think. Just wait until you know what we’ve got to do.
“She’s waiting for me,” I say. “She wants us to go now, straightaway. Now or never, she says.”
Elvira freezes in the act of wrapping Saldowr’s cloak back over his shoulder. “Now?” she says. “But Conor—”
“He’ll be all right. He’s got your talisman,” I say unkindly, and sure enough, I see Conor’s hand go up and touch it.
“I’d come with you, Conor, you know I would, but I wouldn’t be any use,” says Elvira, looking only at him and speaking only to him. “I’d hold you back. That’s why I made you the talisman. I can’t even go as deep as Faro can. Blood fills my head, and my sight goes black,” she adds poetically, increasing my irritation.
“I expect it’s a Mer thing,” I say, and shoot Faro a look. He pretends not to know what I mean.
“I know, Elvira. I understand,” says Conor, so softly and warmly that jealousy plunges deep into my heart like the dagger of stone that wounded Saldowr. Why is Elvira allowed to be weak, and everyone’s full of understanding and sympathy, while they act as if it’s perfectly normal for me to risk my life?
What is the matter with me? I’ve got to stop this. I’ve never been jealous of Conor before, and I hate self-pity. I want to be strong, so why get angry when people think I am?
Because you’re afraid. Of course that’s what it is. My stomach is knotted with fear. My frightened thoughts are whisking from one corner of my mind to another, trying to find an escape. Trying to find an excuse not to go. But the whale’s waiting for me. We’ve got to hurry—
“We can’t keep the whale waiting, Conor.”
“Whales know how to wait,” says Saldowr. “The Deep teaches them the art of living slowly. But even so, you are right; for the sake of courtesy we should send her a message.”
He claps his hands gently. A few seconds later a school of mackerel flashes through the cave entrance. With their stripes of green and blue and silver, they’re as beautiful as jewels. They swim to Saldowr and weave around his head and body in a dazzle of color while he speaks to them in a murmur, too low for us to hear his words. The mackerel pattern changes, like a dance when the music changes. Faro whispers to me, “They’re learning Saldowr’s message. They remember in their bodies and then in the school, not in their heads.”
The mackerel dance for a few more seconds, and then they’re gone, streaming out of the cave.
“She will wait,” says Saldowr, “but all the same, we must hurry. We have a great deal to do and not much time. And I think we may be interrupted.” He pauses to rest. His hands clench with pain, and Elvira starts forward; but he waves her away. “Faro, fetch my cup again.”
Faro raises the coral cup to Saldowr’s lips. I catch a glimpse of what he’s drinking. It’s a dark liquid that looks as heavy as mercury when it tilts to the rim of the cup. Saldowr swallows, gives a sigh of relief, and lies back again. There must be a drug in the drink. Maybe it’s some kind of painkiller. Saldowr should be resting. He’ll never get well.
“Faro, fetch me my mirror.”
Saldowr gives orders as if Faro belongs to him, like a hand or a foot. Faro doesn’t seem to mind; in fact he seems to take pride in how quickly he can do Saldowr’s bidding. In one long, smooth stroke he reaches the other side of the cave and begins to feel his way along its polished granite wall. His back is turned to me, so I can’t see exactly what he’s doing. The next moment a crack appears in the wall, and a light shines through it: a blue-green light that fills me with dread. The tides! There must be another entrance to the Tide Knot from Saldowr’s cave. What’s Faro doing? Doesn’t he understand how dangerous it is to give the tides even a chink of freedom?
A stab of panic makes me speak. “But Saldowr, the tides will get out again!”
“There’s no danger. All you see there is the reflection of the Tide Knot, not the thing itself. Faro is reaching into my treasury of reflections. They go back hundreds of years,” says Saldowr, with a note of collector’s pride in his voice. “I doubt if there’s another treasury to equal it, in Ingo or on Earth. That is where I keep my mirror.”
Faro reaches in and lifts something out; then his right hand feels across the rock again and presses, and the crack in the wall slides shut. He handles the secret opening so skillfully that I realize he must have used it many times before.
He turns, and in his hand is Saldowr’s mirror. That’s where we saw the image of Mellina and our Mer-baby half brother…and Dad. I paddle myself backward a little. I don’t want to look in that mirror again. It’s too painful. Conor’s looking wary too.
“Bring it to me,” says Saldowr, and Faro places the mirror in his hand, still facedown. “Come here, Sapphire. Come here, Conor.”
He’s going to show us something that I don’t want to see, just like last time. I hang back as if a current is pressing me against the wall.
“Don’t be afraid,” says Saldowr. “My mirror cannot see far today. Look.”
He holds up the mirror for us to see its face. The mirror is broken, shattered into a star shape. It reminds me of how my bedroom mirror looked the day Conor smashed it to the floor because he thought I could see Ingo in it. Yes, it’s the same star shape. I can’t help feeling glad that Saldowr’s mirror has lost its power.
“The Tide Knot broke, and my mirror broke with it,” says Saldowr. “It has lost most of its virtue and can no longer reveal everything that is stored in my treasury of reflections. But it can still show you your own face.”
Any mirror can do that, I think.
“The Kraken cannot bear to see his own face,” says Saldowr. “He hates to see it or have it seen.”
“How do you know?” breaks in Conor.
Saldowr raises his eyebrows. “Maybe Mab Avalon told me,” he says drily. “The Kraken is safe while he stays in the Deep because there are no reflections there. Most of Ingo is full of reflections. So this mirror may be a weapon for you. It is not such a potent one as I would wish, but there is some power left in
it. Come here, Sapphire. Look into the mirror.”
Slowly, reluctantly, I swim to Saldowr’s side. Now that I’m close to him in the green and silver light, I can see how weak he looks. He lifts the hand that doesn’t hold the mirror, and without being told, Faro raises the coral cup, and Saldowr takes another draft. It seems to revive him.
“Move back,” Saldowr tells Faro, and then beckons me closer. “Now, look into the mirror.”
It’s just a mirror, showing me my own face. Nothing special. Except—except for my expression. The eyes in the mirror are troubled and restless. The lips are narrow. I look angry, jealous, and afraid. I blush deeply and lift my eyes to Saldowr.
“I don’t really look like that, do I?” I whisper, not wanting the others to hear.
“Usually people clean their faces before they look into mirrors.”
“There’s no dirt on my face.”
“I mean that they choose what they want to see. They see the best of themselves, but this mirror won’t permit it. I don’t know what you’re seeing, Sapphire. No one but you will see it.”
I look again. The mirror returns the same face.
“Give it to Conor.”
I pass the mirror to Conor. He looks into the shattered glass, and like me he flushes, deep red through the brown of his skin. I wonder what the mirror showed him, but I won’t ask. I wouldn’t want anyone to ask me.
“Shall I look now, Saldowr?” asks Faro cheerfully.
Saldowr considers him. “You could look, my son. Are you still planning to go to the Deep?”
“Of course! When have I ever gone back on my word?” Faro throws back his shoulders and lifts his head proudly.
“I don’t doubt your courage,” says Saldowr.
Nor do I. Faro is brave from his flowing hair to the tip of his strong seal tail. I know that he would risk everything in order to keep his promise. But it’s not right. The Mer can’t survive there; everyone says that. Saldowr can’t let Faro throw his life away on an impossible quest.
To my relief, Saldowr seems to be thinking the same thing. “The Mer cannot enter the Deep,” he warns.
“But Sapphire has Mer blood, and she went to the Deep.”
“Her blood is mixed, and so is Conor’s. They belong to Earth and Air, and they belong to Ingo. For this reason they can go beyond what those who are pure Mer can do. Or at least they have a chance of doing so.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you still want to go with them? Do you still believe that you are capable of it? Ask yourself these questions, my son. Don’t look at what you want to believe, but into the truth that lies in your heart, waiting for you to find it.”
I don’t understand what Saldowr’s implying. How can Faro go? It’s useless to suggest it. But there must be something else beneath the surface of Saldowr’s words.
Faro frowns. A shadow of disquiet passes over his face. “What are you saying to me, Saldowr?” he asks harshly. “I am your scolhyk and your holyer. I belong to Ingo with every drop of my blood. I would die for Ingo’s sake.”
“I believe that, my son,” says Saldowr. “You belong where you choose to belong, just as I do. Are you ready to look into your mirror? It will answer your question if you let it. It will tell you if the Deep will push you away or let you penetrate its dark heart.”
Faro folds his arms. For a moment it looks as if he’s about to challenge Saldowr, and then his arms drop to his sides. “I will look,” he says.
“Then take the mirror.”
Faro reaches out and grasps the handle of the mirror as if it’s a snake that could lash round and bite him. The mirror gleams dully. I can’t see the reflection. I only see its effect.
Color drains from Faro’s face until he’s ashy pale. He stares into the mirror for a long moment and then shudders all over. The mirror drops through the water onto the sand of the cave floor. Faro’s face is haggard as he mutters, “The mirror is lying.”
“My mirror cannot lie.”
“It’s got to be lying.”
“Then, Faro, you cannot go to the Deep.”
Faro’s face is tormented. He looks round wildly for help, as if he’s caught in a trap. I wish I could help him. I know what it’s like to see your worst fears in that mirror, as I did when it showed me my father living happily in his Mer life. Saldowr should keep his mirror in the treasury of reflections and never let it out. It’s much too dangerous.
“Faro,” I say quietly, trying to show my sympathy, wanting him to know that he’s not alone. But he ignores me. I reach out my hand to him, but he brushes it away. He throws back his head in defiance as if Saldowr isn’t his much-respected teacher but an enemy, like Ervys.
“I will go then,” he says in a strained, harsh voice. “I will go. What choice do I have when Ingo calls on me for help? But I will not carry that cursed mirror with me. I will never touch it again.”
Saldowr rears up on his couch, hair streaming and eyes blazing. “No more!” he orders Faro. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You will come to bless my mirror, not curse it. You say you are my scolhyk? Then study. Listen. Learn. You cannot reject what you now know.”
The words rap out like bullets. Saldowr sinks back, exhausted, and Faro rushes to him, kneels by the couch, and seizes his hand as if begging forgiveness.
Poor Faro, I think. Whatever the mirror showed him, he didn’t deserve it. He’s so brave, and it’s clear that the mirror has cut him to the heart. All Faro wanted to do was to help his people. Why does he have to kneel to Saldowr? He loves Saldowr so much. Too much maybe.
Saldowr lays his hand on Faro’s shoulder. “Know yourself,” he says in a gentler voice; “that’s all I ask.” Suddenly he tenses. His hand drops. He’s looking toward the cave mouth, listening.
“We have another visitor,” he says calmly, “and this one won’t wait outside. You may enter, Ervys.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAD USED TO SAY A game of chess was war by other means. He taught me how the pieces moved when I was five. The kings can’t stand next to each other, Sapphy, he told me, when I tried to make the pieces whizz round the board, doing just what they wanted. He got two magnets out of the toolbox and told me to try to push them together until they touched. I couldn’t do it. The air seemed to go solid and keep the ends of the magnets apart.
Each king has his own force, Dad explained. He can’t stand to be that close to another force, just like these magnets, Sapphy. You try to push them together, but they don’t want to be together. They want their own zones of power. So listen, the idea of this game is to keep your king’s force strong. You’ve got to think like a king with an army.
This didn’t mean much to me when I was five, but it does now.
Ervys comes into the cave like a king, not like a visitor. He has two of his men with him. They don’t carry weapons, but they bear themselves like soldiers. They’re huge, broad-shouldered men with flowing hair and powerful tails. Muscles ripple in their shoulders and arms. They remind me of the gray seals that guard Limina.
I mustn’t show them that I’m afraid. I glance at Conor and Faro. Conor’s looking at them with cool interest. Faro’s face is dark with anger. I feel my way toward his thoughts and hit a storm. He can’t bear the fact that they dared to come here. He’d like to kill them for intruding on Saldowr and seeing him weak like this. But he knows he can’t. His rage swirls and eddies like the tide when it turns. I retreat out of its range.
I thought it was the light in the Assembly chamber that gave the faint blue tinge to Ervys’s skin. But it’s the same here, and his followers have it too. Their eyes have the same silvery sheen. A small flick of the tail, and they move closer. Ervys is in front, his followers just behind.
“Saldowr,” says Ervys.
“Ervys,” responds Saldowr. “And I should greet you too, Talek and Mortarow.”
As Saldowr says their names, a brief look of uneasiness crosses their faces. Saldowr looks past Ervys as if he’s not here and talks di
rectly to the one called Mortarow. “You remember, Mortarow, how your grandfather served the Tide Knot, as Faro here serves it now?”
Mortarow frowns and glances at Ervys for support, but Ervys doesn’t even look at him.
“That was before my time,” Mortarow answers. “My granddad passed on to Limina when I was three years old.”
“Of course. But you know of it, and I remember your grandfather well. Your family has a long tradition of faithful service to the Tide Knot. I have always trusted in the strength of the sea bulls. Your grandfather and his father before him.”
He says no more. He doesn’t need to. Mortarow mutters something and looks down uncomfortably. But Ervys breaks in. “We have come to talk of the present and the future, not waste time on the past.”
“You think you have,” returns Saldowr equably, “but the present cannot exist without the past.”
“I am not your scolhyk, Saldowr,” says Ervys with a cold arrogance that makes Faro clench his fists.
But Saldowr doesn’t react. Instead he smiles faintly and says, “You may have noticed a whale, I think, Ervys, as you entered my cave?”
A stifled snort of laughter comes from Conor, and Ervys glances at us angrily. “Your questions are fit for children, not for a leader among the Mer,” he replies.
“A leader among the Mer,” repeats Saldowr softly. He draws himself up until his eyes are level with Ervys’s. I forget that Saldowr is weak and wounded, and only see the raw power that surges through him. His eyes blaze.
“The Mer have no leaders,” he says with quiet fury. “We have learned the danger of that. Leaders lead to division and bloodshed. We have Guardians, not leaders.”
“But how have our Guardians served us?” asks Ervys smoothly. His right arm sweeps out in a wide, dismissive gesture. “Can you deny that Ingo is torn and full of grief? Can you deny that we are weak? Can you deny that the Tide Knot broke and almost shattered us? Perhaps, Saldowr, if we had had a leader, none of these things would have happened.”
Ervys’s followers close around him, shoulder to shoulder. Mortarow and Talek look confident again and even stronger than they did a few minutes ago. Maybe there are more of Ervys’s supporters waiting outside the cave.